In one poem, one runner confesses things that we all know to be true.

carlsbadsit

The truth is

When my alarm goes off at 5:30 am, I mumble some profanities.

My car permanently smells like sweat.  If you don’t like that, you’ll have to get a ride with someone else.

Growing up, the PE hour was the most dreaded hour of my day.

Running in the morning is now my happy hour (and happy hour is my happy hour, too).

If you want to join me on a run, I’ll do my best to slow down or speed up to your pace, but if you are more than 5 minutes late, don’t expect me to wait for you.

One day I’d like to run in just my sports bra and shorts, not to show off my body, but to feel the air against even more of my skin.

I run faster when I am in cute run clothes; at least that’s what the shopaholic in me believes.

When I run, thoughts, words, ideas and possibilities start swirling in my head.

Long runs do a number on my GI tract, giving me the runs and necessitating some medication.

On most runs, I don’t carry water, even though I should. I don’t want water bouncing around my waist or on my back or even in my hands, taking away any of my feeling of freedom.

Recently I ran in a downpour. I’ve never been more soaked. I’ve never felt more alive.

Chocolate cake and truffle fries taste much better after a run.

If I need a good cry while I’m on a run, I don’t hold back. Sweat and tears streaming down your face are indistinguishable anyway.

Even though I say I don’t care about my pace, my heart does a somersault when my GPS watch beeps to let me know I’ve just run my fastest mile ever.

I’m filled with pride when I hear my kids describe their mom as a runner.

Before I started running, I was drowning.

Now that I am running, I can breathe…inhale….exhale…

Paria Hassouri is a runner, a mother of three and a pediatrician. She chronicles her running journey on her blog, Mom On The Runsanity.